


Mangalasutra

by returntosaturn



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:40:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8892829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returntosaturn/pseuds/returntosaturn
Summary: 'They marry in India. It happens sort of on a whim, but also with several days of preparation. The tiny village they are visiting, where Newt has contacts with the locals, and is on good terms with their leader, is in the plains but the spring air is cool and the flowers are blooming. She had never imagined what her wedding would look like; she wasn’t sure if she’d ever have one. And she wasn’t given to flights of fancy like that. But this felt right.'





	

They marry in India. It happens sort of on a whim, but also with several days of preparation. The tiny village they are visiting, where Newt has contacts with the locals, and is on good terms with their leader, is in the plains but the spring air is cool and the flowers are blooming. She had never imagined what her wedding would look like; she wasn’t sure if she’d ever have one. And she wasn’t given to flights of fancy like that. But this felt right.

Their leader is the only one among them that speaks English, and Newt confers with him to discuss what they’d like…no day-long party and feasting, as is their culture. Just a quiet thing, that is just uniquely them. He assures the chief they are grateful for his service, that they would never want to impose. 

But the idea had stumbled out in the midst of a tired, slow afternoon in their little hut after they’d scouted Erumpents in the heat of the day. They’d smirked at each other, imagining what a wild, hair-brained thing this would be—and oh Merlin, what would Queenie say—and so they decided it must be done.

Tina has felt roguish during this stretch of their journey, where things were so different and other-worldly, moreso than any place they’d visited thus far. Where Newt was just as fascinated by the unique non-magical species as he was the magical ones. She supposed it must’ve been the awed glint in his eyes while watching egrets fish the river that put the idea in her mind; she would like nothing more than to end this journey around the world with him as hers forever. 

And what would they have done in America, or England? A quiet, boring ceremony just the same as any other, with little to no family in attendance.

His parents and brother, Queenie and Jacob, would just have to overcome not being there as witnesses. It did not matter to her who was there, anyways, so long as he was.

The women of the village dress her in a traditional dress, a white and powdery blue sari, embroidered in a creamy gold. They paint her hands in intricate designs, flowers and mandalas, up to her wrists, all the time marveling at the fairness of her skin. Over her head they drape a crown of glimmering beads with a little teardrop shaped one falling right at the center of her forehead. She gazes at herself in the cloudy mirror one of them holds out to her, and does not recognize herself. She’s not plain Porpentina. Today she is a bride, treated and glowing, and if she allows herself to look into the glass too long, she quite likes the confidence it gives her. It must be what a queen felt like.

Newt is waiting at the center of the village, in a brilliant blue suit and a little bow tie, a long strand of fluffy white and orange flowers draped around his neck. At the sight of her, her grins sheepishly, a blush tinting his cheeks so vibrantly that she could see it even from her far distance. He looks away, attempting to rein himself in, fidgeting furiously with the ends of his jacket sleeves.

The chief whispers something to him, and he nods, almost laughs, and goes back to flickering his gaze between her and the grassy meadow.

He takes her hand while the village women set her dress in a flowing picturesque flare about her feet. He keenly inspects the markings on her hands, brushing a finger over her knuckles. She laughs, because they both look ridiculous—and Mercy Lewis, they really are doing this. 

The ceremony is short and unintelligible, on Tina’s part at least. She isn’t sure if Newt grasps any of it or not from his time spent with these people all those years ago.

The chief bestows a blessing on each of them separately, and then together, drawing a glowing red strand about their entwined hands with the end of his magicked staff.

An elder presents tiny bowls of spices. Cardamom, pepper, and turmeric. He anoints their temples with smears of each spice. Tina steals a glance to Newt. His head is bowed in reverence, but he’s smiling just the tiniest bit. She cannot squeeze his hand with the thrumming of magic at their wrists, but he catches her gaze and holds it. 

She can think of nothing she would rather have wholly for herself for her whole life than this man. His fumbling, his certainty, his devotion. His wanderlust and his steadfast loyalty. She should probably consider herself honored to be given this place in his life, but if anyone were to ask about their story…she was simply in the wrong place at the right time.

Near the end of the ceremony, he reaches for a carved wooden box the elder holds out to him, and adorns her with a necklace of black beads, a simple pendant at the end of the long chain, a round and smooth black stone framed in diamonds. Its stunning, and she turns the stone over and over in her hands, even when they are settled for the evening in their little hut, smelling of bloomed spices and warmed by a tiny fire.

“It’s a tradition…here. Some are more gaudy than others, but this one I found specially for you,” he tells her.

She’s leaned back against his chest, the borrowed wedding sari drooping languidly from one shoulder and his shirt untucked, waistcoat abandoned.

She gazes up at him, and believes that this day could not have been any more perfect. “I can’t believe we did that,” she almost laughs. “They’re going to think we’re crazy…”

“Going to?” he questions. He finds her hands, studying the ink still there in the orangey glow of the firelight. There’s silence, but she knows exactly what’s ticking through his mind without even having to see him.

Deliberately, she slides from his grasp and flips on her stomach and faces him. “I love you.”

Its strong and firm, a stamp to the end of the night that this is not just a whim she dreamed up when feeling adventurous. That she is not like one particular girl in his life that she has heard stories of…

But she is sure after five years that he knows this.

He catches the ends of her hair and tucks a wild piece behind her ear. A familiar gesture that she has come to understand conveys all the things he’d like to say but prefers to show this affection physically instead. He is not a man of words. This time, she leans into the touch and lets him draw her in for a kiss, spiced and warm.

The fire crackles to a low glow at their feet, and Tina thinks she has never been more romanced than now, after a hastily composed wedding in the most exotic place she knew, with the most interesting creature she has ever met, whom she learned from and with day by day.

Somehow he had chosen this boring, sensible American girl, and brought something out in her that had been waiting patiently within. She could think of nothing better than magic, but this, at least, came close.

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive any details I overlooked about traditional Indian weddings. I thought it might be a mix of Western tradition, Indian tradition, what the village might have as tradition, and a hint of magic. Hope you enjoyed, anyways!
> 
> ( tumblr: @allscissorsallpaper )


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